The Wrong Twin and the Philosopher's Stone
by CheshireMouse
Summary: WBWL format. Twin story. Harry James Potter, actively trying to squish his emotions after years of a tormented existence, enters the Wizardry world and discovers the truth about his family and their indirect betrayal. And, in the meanwhile, a deranged maniac attempts to steal a famous stone that can grant immortality. Oh, the drama.
1. Prologue: Share and Share Alike?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. That pleasure is only reserved for J.K. Rowling- bless her and her imagination.

This fic is loosely based on Araceil's 'Beyond the pale'. Check her work in order to have a hunch of what's going to come. Wrong Boy Who Lived format.

For further information the _author's notes _will be sitting at the bottom of this page. Cheers.

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><p><strong>-Prologue-<strong>

_**-Share and Share Alike?-**_

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><p>Living in number four, Privet Drive in their very own boxy, plain and boring-looking house were the Dursleys. Employed at Grunnings and in care of running drills, Vernon Dursley stood proud in his place as an active member of society, showing nothing less than politeness during interactions and pride in his offspring, Dudley- as proven with the unrestricted pampering and the quantity of presents his parents gave him daily. His wife, extraordinary house wife and gardener, Petunia, was great to have around if you lusted after the juiciest gossip available in the neighbourhood. And finally, but not less important, Dudley, plump, adorable, little boy, was on the top of the social pyramid at school and was quite popular with his peers- he had a gang, had he not?-, despite the fact that he did have some mischievous fits from time to time (some of not so playful, but never mind that- it was normal for his age, claimed his father). It was in fact a pity they were condemned to cohabit with such a disrespectful, deluded boy such as Harry James Potter. He was like a speck of obnoxious black on an immaculate set of sparkling white sheets, yes, indeed.<p>

Oh, the neighbours were also acquainted with the undernourished, pale and fragile-looking boy that always emerged from the family's household in order to complete his daily chores. And they would have felt something akin to pity were he ever shown anything else other than that blank expression he always seemed to prefer. Those powerful, forest green eyes that sometimes gave them the sensation that they could stare _through_ them were always piercing ice and they never failed to unnerve and unsettle the daring fellows who would be willing enough to lock gazes with his. They could make anyone recoil in fear.

Because they were vacant. _Empty._

Something was clearly very wrong with the boy and everybody was just glad it wasn't their problem. Which is why they did not interfere with his 'discipline' at the Dursley's. Never mind the tattered rags the boy always showed to the world and the underlying bruises he came with to and after class, he obviously did something wrong. Last time, he climbed on top of the roof at school- the Potter kid could have easily come up with something equally as terrible and foolish as that.

In summary, they just _did not_ care. And Harry was completely okay with it.

Something was very clearly wrong with him, indeed.

He did his chores in a robotic, automatic manner- used to the demands of his foster family, to their disdain for his 'freak'ness and the lack of regard when dealing with him. Years had passed since the frightened child had been buried under this emotionless shell he was nowadays, product of years and years of neglect and physical- courtesy of his very own cousin's gang, active practitioners of what they called Harry Hunting- and psychological abuse. And when his chores ended, up into the cupboard he went even before his uncle could remember to yell at him. His only companions there were hand-me-downs from Dudley and the few books Harry had been capable of smuggling inside without any of his relatives noticing.

The lack of joy in his everyday life weighed heavily in his heart sometimes. That is before the steel drowned the sensation down into a dull ache.

If he wasn't in their line of vision, if he wasn't heard by them on a regular basis, they eventually left him to his own devises. It was as if he didn't exist at all sometimes.

So, imagine his surprise when there was a letter for him one day. Harry discovered it the same day he turned eleven years old when he checked the mail as instructed by his aunt, which was even rarer. Usually his birthday came and went without any particular thought wasted on the matter, so… what had changed?

"Mr. H. Potter," He echoed in a monotone as he stared at the folded paper in hand outside in the garden he spent so much time to maintain as perfect as his aunt desired. His eyes did not widen nor betrayed anything reeling inside his even mind. "The cupboard under the stairs… I wonder what's this about?"

In no hurry to return, but knowing better than to procrastinate, Harry turned to reenter the house, his eyes never leaving the paper as he examined the rest of it. The seal at the back was curious enough to draw his full attention. Nowadays, people rarely used wax stamps in order to seal letters, but this one had one and an equally funny stamp to go along with it. It depicted the figures of a ferocious lion, a threatening-looking snake, an inquisitive badger and a proud raven- for some reason they awakened a tingly feeling in his chest.

Harry rubbed the area mechanically underneath his stone façade and proceeded to hide the letter inside his robes. Enlarged as they were, no one would notice a slight budge near his hips.

Nonchalantly, he delivered the letters to his uncle (who in turn glared, as if condemning him for reminding him of the existence of bills) and grabbed his portion of breakfast before locking himself away from their presence inside the safety of his cupboard with the lights on.

The bubbly feeling continued to well up inside his chest once he sat himself on his tattered mattress. Harry chewed slowly on his dry toast before he decided to put an end to his wait and the strange panging in his chest.

The text read as it follows:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBULDORE _

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Conf. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you had been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Slowly and carefully as possible, the young boy digested not only his half-eaten toast, but also the letter contents he just read. His pupils dilated as he reread everything once again to make sure he was not hallucinating or he just misread the whole thing in his hastiness.

The paper felt real, so it had to be real. Someone had addressed him a formal letter that technically enrolled him in a school for wizards, apparently. He wasn't sure if it was a really bad joke or, dare he say it, the real thing, but for some reason the awkward sensation in his chest continued to bubble in his insides. Was that… excitement? Yes, that had to be it. His body felt like it was about to spring up jumping, despite the fact there was no space to do so inside the confined cupboard he was in. It had been so long since he had felt that that it continued to delude him how to respond to such emotion. So he just sat there still as possible until the bubbling died down a little bit.

Emotions weren't meant for him. He did not long feeling dread or hopelessness. An empty existence was indeed an easier one to bear rather than a sorrowful one- his family had taught him as much. However, since it had been so long since anyone had acknowledged him- _him_, as a person- he folded the letter into the envelope and put it away in his favorite shoebox.

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><p><em>AN: I just wanted to try this genre out since Araceil did only a general description of the events that happened each year. I plan to be more detailed- let's see how it works. _

_Also, if anyone is in mood of volunteering as a beta reader for this story, go ahead. Don't let me stop you. PM me and we'll talk._

_On another note, the next post will be much longer. I just needed to put the story up and see if it does have some kind of response. _

_I will appreciate all kinds of support. Including reviews. Especially reviews. Lol_

_Question: What name do you like best and why? Charlus or Hayden? It will be the twin's name, remember!_


	2. Once a Black Sheep, never white again

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. And neither do you.

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><p><strong>-1-<strong>

_**-Once a Black Sheep, never white again-**_

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><p>The day got curiouser and curiouser as it progressed- not really, but Harry couldn't help but quote Lewis Carrol since things ceased to make sense once again. For a book of fiction full of nonsense, it seemed fitting to use that line in this context.<p>

It started normal enough with Dudley snooping inside his cupboard- the little tosser took particular delight in knowing his cousin watched on as he did, albeit showing none or little mind over this particular behaviour-, flinging around the few possessions he had accumulated there. Not surprisingly, the plump kid dismissed his book section quickly enough after shoving onto the floor most of his collection and instead focused on his mountain of shoeboxes after discovering the 'litter' Harry kept there. Mostly, all the stuff he encountered were tokens that the raven haired boy had picked up out in the streets and undesirable past belongings of his cousin. Dudley neither recognized the 'litter' nor cared as he concentrated on his snide commentary in another effort to make Harry angry.

"What's this?" The blond blubby kid clutched with his equally chubby fingers the grey cloth peaking out of one particularly large cardboard boy. Harry completely ignored the predictable remark that would follow the ugly sneer crawling up his face and only watched as his mouth opened and closed in a poor fish impersonation.

"Stonewall uniform," Harry offhandedly responded, recognizing the unkept excuse of a shirt. He shifted his weight against the wall, not further interested in his nosey relative. The way Dudley moved his bottom that stuck out the enclosed space- up and down, lean to the side and repeat, push in and out- reminded him morbidly of the movements he gathered a pig would do as he wolfed down his food. "Aunt Petunia said I would be better off with something you don't wear anymore."

"_These _were never mine," Dudley snapped immediately, apparently offended something so… _holey_ was ever cradling his round figure.

"Of course not," Harry was quick to consent, not an inflexion present in his voice. His cousin still glared and poked him forcibly with his Smelting's stick before ducking inside again. "Aunt Petunia still dyed it," The raven boy continued.

"Oh, shut up! Still up to take the toilet practice?"

"No," Harry returned in deceptively soft voice.

Dudley didn't catch the dark undertone, "Might help you in the transition, freak."

_Smooth, Dudley. Smooth, indeed._

That anger that washed over him momentarily was squished quickly enough. This was careless banter. As long as Harry betrayed nothing, it would pass soon enough since his blond relative had the attention span of a grain of salt and no Piers to back him up in his harassment right now. It was easy to do- the pangs were ever silent for a long time now.

"Whatever you say."

In another circumstances, the young Potter would have gone out in a stroll by now and left his cousin to his own devices- possessions be damned. But there was no sunlight now, the coat of night weighing heavily on the exterior of the house and as such Harry had resigned himself to be confined inside the house. He could have always gone to Mrs. Figgs', as she was barely more tolerable than his foster family, but doubted that she would appreciate the night visit in such a late hour. Especially since she appeared to have broken her legs just a day ago.

Proceeding to ignore Dudley further than before, his mind wandered a bit, into the clouds. It came rushing right down in a sudden dive when an annoyingly familiar voice broke him out of his musings in a booming cheer.

"Daddy! Look at what I found!"

Harry's emerald eyes widened just enough to give away his consternation. Luckily, Dudley seemed in too much of a hurry to notice when the young Potter noticed the folded parchment he had received just hours ago. The letter was out of the envelope and flashing its contents to the world to see.

Suddenly, Harry had too much. The boy dashed after his cousin and made a grab for it before Dudley caught up and held it just out of reach, his face resembling a deer in the highlights before morphing into eerie satisfaction at the smaller boy's reaction.

His voice continued resounding through the walls, effectively catching the attention of the other house occupants.

"Harry hid a letter! Harry hid a letter!" Dudley almost sang in delight.

Harry's face couldn't be any more darker.

"Give it right back!" He howled menacingly before kicking Dudley in the shins. For an underweight kid like him, he had used a lot of strength behind that kick. More than Dudley was ever prepared for. The blond boy started wailing loudly just as Vernon came through the door, followed closely by Petunia, who practically stumbled after taking the situation in. "The letter was addressed to me! I hid nothing!"

"Boy!" Vernon exploded, flushing crimson all over his face. "What's the meaning of this?!"

"Harry attacked me! It hurts, dad!" His son wept as he rolled on the floor.

If possible, the redness increased in intensity and range at news. By now, Harry's dear uncle resembled more a giant tomato more than anything else. A giant tomato with a handful of a slap, as Harry was forced to notice by experience. The collision of Vernon's hand against his cheek practically launched him against the wall and made him slip onto the floor like a broken doll.

Aunt Petunia shrieked at the action, "Vernon, what are you doing?!" But the protest was no more than a startled squeak and it failed to grab his husband's attention, who was stomping his way to his disobedient nephew.

"How dare you make fun out of our hospitality, boy?! We feed you, offered you shelter when no one else wanted you and took care you! And what do you do? You steal from us! You attack us without any reason!" Vernon took the object of his anger by the front of his collar and shoved him back on his feet, his angry face unmistakably closer than ever before. The sight of his uncle's eyes blazing just centimetres away made Harry's emotions go overboard- the poor control that previously reigned over them taken away like a breeze spirits away fallen leaves from the floor. "You ingrate! I knew you were better off in an orphanage! We should have never agreed to take you in, no matter what nonsense they spouted!"

"You never took care of me!" Harry's tone matched his uncle's in equal fierceness, "You make me do all the dirty work in this house! If anything, I am just your slave and your son's punching bag! Hospitality?! You call that hospitality?!" A loud bang echoed in the house and another and another as the quarrel escalated between the two of them. Harry's face started swelling furiously, but he took no notice of that in the heat of the moment. His heart ponded erratically in his little chest at the same time his uncle acquired a strange shade of purple in his face. "You call _me _freak, but I am nothing in comparison to you, you lot of monsters!"

The house shook ever so strongly in response to Vernon's warning growl and the tightening on Harry's robes. The overweight man seemed to struggle for a response, only to choke in his own saliva as he found none that could transmit the amount of hatred he felt for the _parasite _leeching off him and his family. The boy's face, hardly unlike his wretched father's, did nothing to soothe the situation. Vernon acted purely on instinct- he brought his fist up and _punched_ Harry James Potter across his face.

In the corner, Aunt Petunia and Dudley shook in terror at the abusive display in front of them. All around them it was pure chaos. An earthquake reserved only for Privet Drive number four brought down all of the pictures loosely hanging on the walls, the paintings, the clocks… An abrupt crash came from the kitchen as a dish clashed against the tiles on the floor.

"Vernon!" Harry was barely aware of her aunt screaming at his husband to stop. However, all the beefy man did was smash his face again.

The last thing the young Potter registered as oblivion wrapped around his mind was the sound of shrilling sirens and someone howling in fury.

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><p>"Harry," A soft voice whispered in his ear. "I think it's time to wake up."<p>

With a start, Harry obliged and accidently banged himself against the roof of his cupboard. He let out a small whimper of pain in response to the sudden overwhelming surge of pain. His small hand started to nurse the bruise that would surely form in the following next minutes, which would incidentally gain volume around the lightning bolt scar that was usually hidden underneath all that untameable mass of black hair.

"Ouch…" He moaned mournfully, but remained mostly quiet just out of habit. A loud thud coming from his door was the only indicator that someone heard him despite his soundless protests.

"Keep quiet, freak!"

Immediately recognizing the mocking tone of Dudley Dursley, Harry frowned and fell right back into the lumpy mattress, not even bothering to respond to his taunting. He was no going out of his sanctuary unless Aunt Petunia personally came dragging him out in order to do his chores. He ignored the following verbal jabs his cousin threw at him and the irritating ponding at his door until, at last, ceased after the first couple of minutes. Harry was really lucky Dudley had inherited the impatient gene from his progeny.

However, all thoughts of Dudley Dursley abandoned the youngling's mind when he remembered his dream- or what it felt to be a dream since Harry didn't have any bruises in his body.

Wait. What?

Hastily, Harry lifted his shirt and examined his smooth skin. There was no hint of the painful lumps he daily received from his cousin nor there was any evidence of Vernon going all violent on him like in his dream. The scarred teen frowned further in confusion; the feeling of being able to move without his body protesting to his movements was eerie to him.

Not that he complained. Not at all. It was just strange to him.

Speaking of strange, wasn't Aunt Petunia going to fetch him punctually like she always did? A quick glance at his wall clock revealed that she was awfully late- she normally was shrieking at him to take care of her garden at this point.

Lifting an eyebrow, Harry swung his legs out of his unmade bed and tested the door. It creaked open, to his utter astonishment. Not quite believing his luck, he showed himself out and rounded the hall in search of his aunt.

Not surprisingly, he found her at the kitchen. What _was_ odd was her jelly-like trembling and her corpse-like skin complexion. Aunt Petunia was the very definition of a nervous wreck at that moment.

Not sure of how to approach distressed women, Harry attempted the direct and most blunt way to intersect her, "Aunt Petunia, are you ok?"

It was just a whisper, but it served as enough initiative for the woman to cry out in fear. As she leapt away from him like he had a highly contagious disease, Harry noted that her usually combed hair stood as if electrocuted and that her clothes didn't match- at all. Her unkept image made her look deranged and added to her haunted look a touch of instability.

"Ha-Harry! What are you doing here?!" Petunia gripped so tightly the handle of the spoon she supported in her hand that her knuckles were as white as marble.

The young Potter frowned again- he seemed to be doing that a lot that day. Typically, he wasn't known for caring for the foster family that mistreated him so badly ever since he was left on their doorstep, but even for him this behaviour was deeply disconcerting. To make things easier, Harry silently decided it was best not to comment on the strangeness of her reaction, lest he wanted to give the woman a heart attack. It would be infinitely better if they could push things into a semblance of normalcy, he gathered.

"Just informing you that I was going to mow the lawn today," Harry muttered slowly, as if he were talking to a cornered animal, which, truly enough, was what Aunt Petunia most resembled at that moment. "Is there anything else you want me to do apart from that and watering the plants?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" She exclaimed, raising every flag in Harry's mind. The boy cautiously backed away a step. "You don't have to do _anything!_"

"Okay…" Harry trailed off uncertainly.

A pregnant silence descended upon them, only interrupted by the loud breaths of his nosey cousin eavesdropping outside the kitchen. Harry didn't dare look anywhere else than into his crazed relatives eyes and in return Petunia held his stare, her wild look increasing with each passing second.

"Just…" Petunia shakily interrupted whatever staring contest they were having by averting her gaze in order to stare with obsessive fascination at the colourless tiles the Dursley's had put inside their kitchen, worrying her lips incessantly, "Take this," She practically shoved a paper into his opened hand, only to flinch away as if he had shocked her and even then she didn't raise her eyes to face his, "And wait for a large black dog to appear. _And don't dare come back before you do whatever he says you need to do!_"

And then she pushed him out, never once minding the startled squeak of her own son when Harry collided with him. Aunt Petunia slammed the kitchen door closed as soon as he was out- and even more shockingly, started weeping uncontrollably.

Wide eyed, Harry stared into his cousin's eyes, who surely matched his bewildered expression.

"What did you do?" Dudley whimpered fearfully. The plump kid backed away from Harry despite having the distinct advantage of height and weight over him.

Harry didn't even move, but Dudley had already stepped three feet away from him.

In his emerald orbs, perplexity shouted his response loud and clear.

"I don't _bloody _know, Dudley."

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><p><em>AN: Anyone saw that coming? I didn't!_

_Welp! I hope you like this post! What do you think it happened? And, yes! Padfoot will be introduced in the next chapter :D_

_Also, I am used to American sayings and expressions so if you want me to correct anything in particular, tell me. I want to keep everything as believable as possible and that includes characterization._

_My question still stands: Which name do you like best for Harry's twin? Hayden or Charlus? Which middle name do suggest, by the way? I am already leaning towards Charlus, but the middle name is still something I haven't thought of._

_REVIEWS ARE LOVE, LADS!_


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